Dog Blood Part 10

The concentration of huge ma.s.ses of refugees in hopelessly unprepared locations also presented a constant string of enormous, virtually insurmountable, logistical and practical problems.

The lack of food, shelter, and adequate medical care aside, water, gas, and electricity supplies failed with astonis.h.i.+ng speed as power stations, pumps, and pipelines were abandoned, destroyed, or disabled. With every single person without exception being dragged into the war, those installations and facilities that remained operational longest were frequently those that could function unmanned.

The evacuation of the Unchanged ma.s.ses to city center camps simply concentrated and exacerbated the problems faced by the authorities. Extremely limited utility supplies were maintained, with all available water, gas, and power being diverted to the military as priority. f.u.c.k the civilians, there's a war to be won.

Without adequate supplies of clean water and basic medical care, the refugee camps quickly became breeding grounds for disease. Previously easily curable ailments rapidly became killers, and small outbreaks and infestations quickly became epidemics. Most bodies were collected and burned, but scores of others inevitably remained undetected. The almost total lack of sanitation compounded the problem dramatically.

Within the cities, the closely confined ma.s.ses of refugees continued to produce vast amounts of garbage, none of which was collected or treated. As well as quickly becoming a physical hazard, the huge quant.i.ties of waste that quickly gathered also contributed to the acceleration of disease. Rats and other vermin benefited from suddenly plentiful supplies of food, and those drains and sewers that had not been damaged by the fighting instead became blocked with debris.

From late May onward, an increase in temperature combined with frequent heavy downpours of rain to further accelerate the decline in conditions in the refugee camps.

Every available sc.r.a.p of indoor s.p.a.ce had been utilized to house the displaced, but inevitably the demand far outweighed what was available. As a result, huge numbers of people were left outside. Some were housed in tents, RVs, and trailers, but most made do with temporary shelters constructed from whatever materials they could find. More than 30 percent of the total population of the refugee camp was forced to live outdoors-hundreds of thousands of exhausted, vulnerable, malnourished people left to the mercy of the elements.

"Block it up!" Mark yelled as rainwater poured in through the broken top-floor hotel window. The room was dark, almost pitch black despite it normally being bright at this time in the morning. The stormy dawn sky over the city was swollen with rain. It had been falling with the force of bullets for more than fifteen minutes already and showed no signs of abating. The guttering and drainpipes serving the dilapidated old building couldn't cope with the sheer amount of water flus.h.i.+ng through them. A blocked section of gutter had overflowed, and the water had seeped behind a rotting fascia board, then flooded through the window frame. More water seeped through a broken pane of gla.s.s.

"Block it with what?" Kate shouted, using a bucket, a wastebasket, cups, and whatever else she could find to catch the water.

"I don't know. Stay there. I'll go and find something."

"Don't go outside," she pleaded, struggling with her heavily pregnant bulk to turn around and stop him. "Please, Mark."

"Just to the end of the hall, okay?"

He didn't give her time to answer. He weaved around the bottom of the double bed, where Katie's traumatized elderly parents lay terrified, cold, and wet, then ran past the permanently locked bathroom door. He unlocked the main door, took off the security chain, and put his head outside. Just a handful of people out on the landing-a rain-soaked woman from the room next door (who obviously had problems similar to his) and the Chinese guy with his three kids who slept in the broken elevator. Mark looked up and down, then spied a wooden hatch on the wall between two of the opposite rooms. The fire hose that used to be hidden behind the small square door was missing. He pulled at the hatch, then pushed down on it from above, feeling the hinges begin to weaken. A few seconds of violent shaking and pulling and he yanked it free with an almighty splintering crack. He ran back to room 33 with it, stopping only to pull the one remaining curtain down from the side of a large gallery window overlooking the street below. Jesus Christ, things looked bad down there. Crowds of people were pressed up against the sides of buildings, desperate for whatever shelter they could find, woken without warning by an early morning deluge of ice-cold rain. The main street itself, Arley Road, a wide, relatively straight, and gently sloping strip of pavement, looked more like a river. A fast-moving, debris-carrying torrent of rainwater surged down it toward the center of town.

Back in the hotel room, Mark threw the curtain to Kate, who started mopping up the water that was still cascading down the gla.s.s, then spilling down the windowsill and soaking the carpet.

"Who's that?!" Kate's elderly, confused father yelled in panic, lifting his head off the pillow for the first time in hours. "Is it one of them?"

Next to him, her mother lay on her side, sobbing, the dirty bedclothes pulled up tight under her chin.

"It's just Mark, Dad," Kate shouted.

"It's me, Joe," Mark said, leaning closer to the old man so he could see his face. He'd lost his gla.s.ses weeks ago. Mark didn't know whether he recognized him or not.

Mark leaned the hatch door against the window over the broken gla.s.s and used a phone directory to wedge and hold it in place.

"Save the water," he said to Kate.

"What?"

"The rainwater ... save it!"

"Where?"

"In the bathtub."

The flow of water into the room temporarily plugged, Kate carried the half-full bucket across the room, her bare feet squelching on the damp carpet. She knocked on the bathroom door.

"Let me in."

There was a brief pause; then the latch clicked and the door opened. Another adult refugee appeared, her face drawn and haggard-looking.

"Everything okay?" she asked. Kate nodded.

"Mark said we should try to save the water in the tub."

The woman nodded and took the bucket from her. Mark pa.s.sed her several water-filled cups that he'd collected from by the window.

"Makes sense to try to h.o.a.rd as much as we can," he said, taking back the empty bucket. She nodded but didn't answer.

The flood stemmed temporarily, Kate walked away and sat down exhausted on a rain-splashed chair next to her parents. Her mother continued to sob, but Kate couldn't face trying to comfort her. Instead she closed her eyes and ran her hands over her swollen stomach.

Mark picked up the last pot of water and carried it to the bathroom. The rain seemed to finally be easing. The woman in the shadows took it from him and emptied it into the tub.

"Thanks, Lizzie," he said.

21.

I CAN'T STAND MUCH more of this. It must be hours since Mallon left me. Can't smell the food anymore, but I know it's still there, and I want it. My guts feel like they're somersaulting one minute and being ripped open the next. The pain's unbearable, almost like my body's eating itself from the inside out. I try to put the hunger out of my mind, but frustration takes its place. The frustration turns into confusion; then the confusion turns into fear. The fear makes my aching shoulders, arms, and legs feel a thousand times worse. I try to lie still, but even the slightest movement is agony. more of this. It must be hours since Mallon left me. Can't smell the food anymore, but I know it's still there, and I want it. My guts feel like they're somersaulting one minute and being ripped open the next. The pain's unbearable, almost like my body's eating itself from the inside out. I try to put the hunger out of my mind, but frustration takes its place. The frustration turns into confusion; then the confusion turns into fear. The fear makes my aching shoulders, arms, and legs feel a thousand times worse. I try to lie still, but even the slightest movement is agony.

What the h.e.l.l was that? Something's moving over me. It feels like there are insects crawling over my itching leg. Maybe there are? I haven't looked at my legs since I woke up strapped to this bed. Who's to say that itch isn't an open, untreated wound? Who's to say I haven't got some kind of infection, that there aren't maggots and worms and Christ knows what else feeding on my flesh? I can feel them wriggling and squirming inside the cut, digging deep into me, boring through my skin.

Then it stops again.

Am I just imagining things? Or was it something bigger? A mouse or a rat?

The dripping is the only distraction. It's constant now, almost like machine-gun fire, and it never f.u.c.king stops.

I could end this. All I have to do is talk, he said. Just give him that one small victory and I'll have some light and food and water. Christ, I need to drink something so badly ...

I open my mouth to shout for help, then stop myself. What the h.e.l.l am I thinking? Have I forgotten what Joseph Mallon is and what his people did (and are still doing) to my kind? They're the reason all of this happened. If it wasn't for them we wouldn't have had to kill and my family would still be together. We had to kill them for protection. This whole war has been fought in self-defense ... that's the only reason. They made us do it. And to think, I was about to beg one of them for mercy ... Christ, what kind of a person would that make me? I'd be p.i.s.sing on the memory of all those who've already died in the fighting.

But why not?

Why shouldn't I talk?

No one's going to know, and what are my options? Do I lie here and starve to death or swallow my pride and cooperate?

No ... no way ... they almost had me then. That's exactly what they want me to think. They're trying to get me to crack under pressure and submit. Why should I? I'm stronger than all of them. I'll outsmart them and outlast them. I'll I'll break break them them, not the other way around. When all of this is done, they'll they'll be the ones lying broken on the ground, not me. I'll be standing over them, their blood on my hands. be the ones lying broken on the ground, not me. I'll be standing over them, their blood on my hands.

Except right now I can't stand up. Right now I can't move. Right now I can't do anything without that f.u.c.ker Mallon's say-so. For Christ's sake, I'm lying in a bed of my own filth, and I can hardly think straight. I don't know what time of day it is, where I am, who's holding me here ... and none of that's going to change unless someone gives way. They've got nothing to lose. Unless Mallon gets some twisted kick out of doing this, if I die it's just one less of us for them to worry about. But what really happens if I keep refusing to cooperate and fade away to nothing in the endless darkness here? I'll never see Ellis again. Chances are I won't find her anyway, but the fact of the matter is I'll definitely never see her as long as I'm locked up in here.

And I need to eat and drink. The hunger hurts.

Going to do it.

I clear my throat, then stop myself.

More indecision.

Bottom line-what use am I to Ellis like this?

Someone has to give way.

I try to shout, but my voice is hoa.r.s.e and hardly any sound comes out, just a pathetic, strangled whine. For a second I'm relieved; then I tell myself I have to do it. But now I can't even build up enough spit in my mouth to make a decent noise. Frustrated, I try again, this time a little louder. I manage something that's half a word and half a cough and immediately wish I hadn't. I feel like a traitor, colluding with the enemy. Maybe that's it? Could this place be run by Chris Ankin's people? Are they testing my loyalty?

I wait and listen hopefully. Over the dripping of water I can hear distant fighting, the occasional burst of gunfire and sh.e.l.ling, a jet scorching through the sky. But the rest of this building is silent, quieter than ever. Am I on my own here? For all I know this might be the last occupied room in a crumbling ruin. Joseph Mallon might be long gone ...

One more shout, this time so loud it feels like it's ripping the inside of my throat apart.

I lie back on the bed, freezing cold, smelling of p.i.s.s and feeling pathetic. Am I really stupid, naive, and desperate enough to believe that Mallon's going to come back and feed me?! I yell again, this time more in frustration than anything else, then stop. Did I just hear something? It's so quiet and faint that I convince myself I'm imagining it. No, there it is again ... the definite sound of approaching footsteps. I feel relief and fear in equal measure.

Joseph Mallon marches into the room, carrying a flashlight. He s.h.i.+nes the light into my face.

"Did you say something?"

I'm immediately gagged by my emotions again, too angry and full of hate to respond. He waves the light toward the food on the chair. It's cold now, but I still want it. The light makes the water look sparkling, clear, and pure. He walks up to the window behind me, looks outside for a second, then turns around and s.h.i.+nes the flashlight back at me again.

"I thought I heard you say something?"

Still can't speak. The words are stuck in my throat, choking me. It's like the strap across my forehead has slipped down across my windpipe, stopping me from speaking. I want to, but I can't ...

"My mistake," Mallon sighs. "Sorry to have disturbed you."

He steps back out through the door.

"Don't..."

My voice stops him. He turns back around to face me. The weak yellow light from the flashlight makes him look old beyond his years and tired, but slowly his expression changes from a scowl to a smile, which becomes a broad grin.

"Good man! I knew you'd do it!"

He doesn't say anything else. He doesn't try to get me to talk like I thought he would. He doesn't try more of his stupid mind games. Instead he just picks up the plastic bottle of water and squirts it into my mouth. It tastes so good ... stale and warm but refres.h.i.+ng. I swallow and feel it running down the sides of my throat. Thank G.o.d ...

The bottle empty, Mallon does the same with the cold soup, ladling several spoonfuls into my mouth. I almost gag on its cold and lumpy, gristly texture, but I force it down, knowing that every mouthful helps replace the nutrients and energy I've lost since being held here. As I finish eating he loosens the chains on my wrists slightly. They're still attached to the bed, but at least now I have some limited freedom of movement. The relief I feel when I finally move my shoulders and arms is indescribable.

"Didn't hurt, did it?" He grins before he leaves and locks the door.

22.

I OPEN MY EYES again, and this time the narrow room is full of long shadows. Rain is hammering against the window, and the water in the corner is trickling constantly now, no longer just dripping. I tilt my head back as far as it will go and see that the board over the gla.s.s has been moved. Mallon must have done it when he was last here. It's only been s.h.i.+fted slightly, but it's enough to let dull shards of light slope across the opposite wall, stretching almost halfway from the window over to the lopsided crucifix. I must have been asleep. again, and this time the narrow room is full of long shadows. Rain is hammering against the window, and the water in the corner is trickling constantly now, no longer just dripping. I tilt my head back as far as it will go and see that the board over the gla.s.s has been moved. Mallon must have done it when he was last here. It's only been s.h.i.+fted slightly, but it's enough to let dull shards of light slope across the opposite wall, stretching almost halfway from the window over to the lopsided crucifix. I must have been asleep.

Wish I'd never spoken. Feel like a traitor, like I've betrayed myself and my kind, like I'm somehow now less of a man because I spoke to Mallon. But if I hadn't done it I'd probably still be in total darkness with my ankles and wrists bound tight and my stomach still empty. I tell myself that I didn't give anything away (not that I have anything to tell) and I haven't compromised anyone but myself. It's survival of the fittest now, and if I stay stuck here like this I'll be f.u.c.ked when the next fight begins. And there will be another fight ...

I can hear something happening outside, someone moving on the other side of the door. Suddenly it's unlocked and thrown open and Mallon barges in, the loud noise startling me. I curse myself for not concentrating and realizing he was close. Can't afford to let my guard down like that. Lying here I'm vulnerable and exposed. If he decides to turn on me I'm dead.

He puts a fresh bottle of water down on the chair, then locks the door.

"How are you this morning, Danny?"

I won't answer. He leans over me and looks into my face. Instinctively I try to attack, forgetting the chains that still hold me down. My arms are yanked back down, my already aching shoulders feeling like they've been pulled out of their sockets. Mallon, standing a little farther back, is unfazed. f.u.c.ker. I want to see fear and hate on his face, but there's nothing. More games. More f.u.c.king games.

"Let's get some proper light in here so we can see each other," he says, walking over to the window. He moves the board completely, and for the first time I can properly see every corner of the small rectangular room I've been held captive in. It's grubby and well used, with dirty handprints all over the door like someone's been hammering to get out. And the walls are pink, for Christ's sake! Christ knows what this place really is. I know it's not a prison (there are no bars on the window), but this room is definitely a cell.

Watching me with caution, Mallon crouches down at the side of the bed and reaches underneath it. He's pulling on the chains, probably tightening them again. He gets up and moves away, and I find that I can now move my left hand with a little more freedom than before. He tosses me the water. I'm just barely able to catch it, open the lid with my teeth, hold it to my lips, and drain it dry. I crush the empty bottle and throw it back at him with a flick of my still-restricted wrist. Smug b.a.s.t.a.r.d just smiles.

Mallon moves the chair marginally closer, carefully positioning it as if there's a specific mark on the floor at the point where he's safe. He sits down and looks long and hard into my face. I hold his gaze, determined I won't be the first one to break. He makes it easy for me when he's the one who looks away.

"You've been here for almost two days now, Danny," he says, "and you haven't had any answers to those questions of yours, have you? I'm also betting that if you're anything like the rest of your people I've gone through this with, you're probably not ready to start asking yet. In fact, if I was to loosen your chains just a little bit more, I know you'd try to get off that bed and kill me."

d.a.m.n right. There's nothing I want to do more than wrap these chains around his windpipe and choke the life out of this vile, pathetic b.a.s.t.a.r.d. But I know it's not going to happen. Not yet, anyway.

"Now what I want this morning," he continues, his voice low and infuriatingly calm, "is just for you to lie still and listen to me. I want to tell you my story. It won't be anything you haven't heard a hundred times already. Well, maybe you won't have heard a story like this, but I'm betting you've seen plenty of similar things. h.e.l.l, I'm sure you've done done worse things yourself than what I'm going to tell you. You see, Danny, you and your kind ripped a hole in my life. I lost everything because of you. You tore my world apart." worse things yourself than what I'm going to tell you. You see, Danny, you and your kind ripped a hole in my life. I lost everything because of you. You tore my world apart."

What the h.e.l.l's he expecting from me? Pity? An apology? It makes me feel good to know that we've made him suffer, and I want to hear more. I want every detail. I want to know exactly how we hurt him and what we did.

"Picture the scene, Danny," he begins, his voice almost too calm. "It's a Friday night, and I've just got home from work. I won't bore you with the details about where I lived and what I used to do for a living before all this because, if I'm being honest, it was was boring. Thing is, it was boring. Thing is, it was my my life and life and my my routine and I was happy with it. And you and your kind took it all away from me." routine and I was happy with it. And you and your kind took it all away from me."

He remains composed, but I sense raw emotion bubbling just under the surface. Is he going to crack? I want to see this b.a.s.t.a.r.d's pain, want to see him hurt. He stops speaking, closes his eyes, takes a breath, and then continues.

"It was pretty early on, I suppose. You remember what it was like in the early days when we thought there wasn't really a problem and that the streets were full of copycat vigilantes fighting just because everyone else was? Before we knew that people like you were actually changing? Back in the days before we all got too scared to even look at each other? Remember?"

He automatically looks at me for a response, but he doesn't get one.

"Anyway, like I said, it was a Friday night. We'd just finished eating, and I was watching the news on TV, hearing about how bad everything was starting to get. My wife was in the kitchen, arguing with Keisha, our seventeen-year-old, about going out. She was going through the whole protective mother routine, you know? Telling her how she didn't like her going into town on weekends anyway, but especially not then with all the trouble going on ... you get the picture. Now I'm sitting there with my feet up, trying to block out the noise and concentrate on the TV, but it's getting louder and louder in there. Keisha's shouting at Jess, Jess is shouting at Keisha, then Keisha's shouting back again, and I'm just staring at the screen, wis.h.i.+ng they'd both shut up..."

His voice trails off again, and in the sudden silence I remember all the TV and kid-oriented arguments that used to grind me down in my dead-end former life. I check myself quickly. Am I identifying with this f.u.c.ker? Maybe that's what he wants? This is probably just more calculated bulls.h.i.+t to try to get me on his side.

"The shouting gets louder and louder," he says, "and I hear the back door swing open, then slam shut. I think that's it, that Keisha's stormed out, but then I realize I can still hear both their voices. Then I hear a crash and one of them starts screaming, then a thump and another crash. And then all the screaming stops."

He looks straight at me. There are tears rolling down his cheeks. He wipes them away with his sleeve.

"I get up and start walking toward the kitchen, and there's this guy just standing there in the middle of the room with his back to me, both my girls lying at his feet. I know they're dead as soon as I see them. He's got a baseball bat in his hand, and there's blood dripping off the end of it. I can only see Keisha's legs, but Jess is lying on her back, her head just a yard or so from where I'm standing, and her face ... Christ, there's nothing left of it, like her whole skull's been caved in. Just a dark, b.l.o.o.d.y hole where that beautiful face used to be ...

"Now our house was just a small, modest place-narrow, middle of the block, you know the type? I start backing away from the kitchen, praying the killer's not gonna see me. I'm halfway across the living room when he starts to move. We had a closet under the stairs with one of those slatted louver doors. I drop down to my hands and knees, crawl behind the sofa to the closet, then shut myself inside. And the worst thing is, when I get in there I've still got a clear view of everything. I see the man step over my wife's body and walk into the living room. b.a.s.t.a.r.d was crying like a baby. I can't even remember what he looked like now. I just remember him wailing and sobbing like it was him that had just found his family dead. I reckon the Change had just hit him, you know? It was like he was regretting what he'd done, like he was trying to work out what he was and come to terms with it. Tell me, Danny, was it like that for you?"